Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Time strides down the overgrown pathway, eye focused solely on the large stone temple looming above the tree-line. He, rather frustratingly, doesn’t have much time. He has to get there as fast as he can, has to stop the rest of the Chain from what they’re about to do, for all their sakes.

Someone stands in the way as Time turns the last corner, hair and blue tunic aglow from the late afternoon sun that shines through the trees and lights up the temple's entrance. He had expected it honestly; no doubt Warriors would want someone to delay him outside the temple. But when he’d thought about the idea earlier, he hadn’t expected the one chosen to stay behind to be Wild.

Sky, for obvious reasons, would’ve been his first pick, followed by Warriors. Not Wild.

The Champion watches him, offering a small smile as Time draws closer. “Hey, Time.”

“Move, Wild.” Time says shortly, keeping momentum to walk straight past him, but Wild steps into his path.

“Uh, yeah, I’m not doing that.” Wild at least looks a little apologetic. “Come on, even you know I wouldn’t do that.”

Time pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling loudly. “Wild, I do not have time for this.”

Wild’s lips twitch, the way they do when he’s thought of a particularly horrendous joke he wants to inflict on them, but Time just raises a hand to stop it. “Don’t even start. Let me pas, Wild.”

There’s a moment of nothing but the wind as Wild looks Time up and down with a sharp, assessing eye before he shakes his head. “Not happening, Time. Look, I know things are probably a bit weird right now, but if you just wait for a minute, I’m sure we can work it out, yeah?”

Precious seconds are ticking away as Time stands here entertaining him and frustration bubbles in his stomach. This is exactly what he had been wanting to avoid but… well… he’s not exactly being given a choice.

Time reaches back for the Biggoron sword, unsheathing it and holding it loosely with both hands.

Wild raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

For someone whose whole reputation is mostly focused on how impulsive he is, Wild sounds remarkably judgemental.

“I am giving you the chance to move.” Time says, cool and calm.

With a small careless shrug, Wild straightens up, sliding his shield onto his arm but leaves his sword sheathed on his back. He doesn’t say anything else, mind clearly made up, and Time sighs. He doesn’t want to hurt Wild but it won’t be that hard to incapacitate him enough to get past.

“Whenever you’re ready, Old Man.” Wild’s voice is quiet and apologetic.

Time heaves his sword out in a wide swing, trying to push Wild off-balance, but Wild just slides back, dancing out of the way, leaves and grass rustling as his feet swish through them.

It’s a teasing motion, something Time’s seen him do when he fights Hinoxes. It’s meant to agitate Time into chasing him, and it’s something he really doesn’t want to have to deal with. Time follows regardless, gritting his teeth, and tries to keep up the fast pace of his swings.

He realises his mistake too late as Wild abruptly hops to the side of one of his strikes and vanishes from sight. Sharp pain bursts from his wrists and Time finds himself stumbling backwards. His sword is no longer in his hands but instead laying on the dirt between them.

Holding a nearly-broken tree branch of all things, Wild moves quickly. He gets the toe of his boot under Time's sword and kicks it into the bushes, then glances at Time. An unspoken question glints in his eyes: now what?

Hindsight is important, because Time realises this is exactly why Wild was the one to stay behind. Out of all of the Links, all their quirks and magic and items and fighting skills, Wild is the only one who’s literally weaponised dodging.

How do you get past someone who’s at his strongest when he knows exactly how you fight?

Time clenches his fists, the frustration inside him only growing. He doesn’t have time for this! He shoves a hand into his pouch, fingers closing around the handle of the megaton hammer and pulls it out.

“Do not make me do this.” Time warns, gripping the hammer tightly.

Wild doesn’t reply, just moves back to the centre of the pathway and raises his chin in a silent challenge.

Time twists the hammer once and swings it out, pouring every ounce of magic his golden gauntlets can afford him on top of his own strength behind the hit. All he has to do is get a glancing blow, enough to stun Wild, and then he’ll be able to get past. That’s all he needs to do.

There’s a loud clang of metal on metal as Wild catches the blow against his shield and shoves, pushing all that momentum back at Time. Then, in the ultimate insult to injury, his champion ability activates again and Time finds the hammer ripped from his hands.

Wild steps back quickly, tossing the hammer somewhere behind him, and looks at Time. He’s still not talking, still too focused on the fight to detach himself from that old mindset, but the question still hasn’t changed since he last silently asked it.

Now what?

Time snarls out a curse and goes for his last resort. The ocarina still fits perfectly in his hands, despite the years that have passed since he last used it, and he plays that all too familiar tune. As time warps around him, the last thing he hears is Wild’s yelp of, “Time, wait!”

Let’s try this again.

- Two -

He tries to not follow Wild with the intention of baiting him back to engage, but Wild just stops and waits. Only one of them is on a deadline, after all.

Well, there’s no point wasting any more time here then.

Let’s try this again.

“Time, wait!”

- Six -

As Time nears him, Wild’s eyes drop to the blue ocarina he’s tucking back into his pouch. A small smile spreads across his face, tugging slightly at the edges of his scars.

“How many times is this?” He asks, tilting his head. Of course he knows.

“The last one.” Time sighs.

“And how many times have you said that to me?”

It’s said matter-of-factly, not overconfidently, and Time hates that despite not being able to travel backwards through time, despite his only power being the ability to slow it, Wild somehow still knows that it’s not his first, second or even third reset.

“Let me past.” He commands.

Wild’s smile turns sad. “You know I can’t, Time.”

“Don’t you understand what I’m trying to do here?!” Time spits the words out, tone harsher and more desperate than he would like to admit. He just needs Wild to understand and listen for once! “I need to get into that temple!”

There’s a long moment where Wild just looks at him, bright eyes narrow and unrelenting. Then, somehow managing to sound both apologetic and unmoving at the same time, he asks, “Have I let you past yet?”

“I know the others are in there. If they destroy that tablet—”

“There is no magic tablet, Time.” Wild cuts him off, voice turning curt. “I’m guessing I’ve told you this before, right?”

Time scoffs. “I am not cursed, Wild.”

Wild shrugs a shoulder, as casual as can be. “You already know my answer.”

“I’m trying to end this so we can all go home!” Time tries, one final pointless plea.

“Are you, though? Really?”

It’s exactly what he expected.

Fine, Time thinks, reaching for his sword. This time.

Wild watches him do it, face smoothing over and going blank. He doesn’t reach for his weapons, just stands there impassive and silent, his eyes following the way Time unsheathes the Biggoron sword from his back and holds onto it tightly.

And that right there is the issue, the reason he’s here once again.

Wild never approaches, never makes the first move, because his magic is reactionary. He will always have the upper hand if the enemy attacks first. And the worst thing is Time can’t wait for the stalemate to end, no matter how much he wants to push his impulsive descendant into action.

In this Hyrule, this in-between era, is a tablet that holds a spell powerful enough to seal the Shadow away, and everyone else has been cursed to believe it’s instead capable of destroying the world around them. Time’s the only one who escaped the Shadow’s attempt to protect itself, the only one capable of ending all this madness.

He just wishes he didn’t have to go through his boys to do so. He takes a breath, trying to think of a way to incapacitate Wild, one that wouldn’t trigger a flurry rush. Maybe…

Time lunges forward, closing the distance between them rapidly. Wild just watches, his eyes narrowed and focused. Time feints to one side then throws himself into a roll, sliding around Wild’s guard. He leaps, Biggoron sword flashing in the light and—

Wild dodges, flipping backwards over the blade, and vanishes as his feet touch the ground. Time finds himself crumpling to the ground, Wild dancing backwards with Time’s sword flung into the grass somewhere behind him.

Time pants, glaring up at the Champion, who quirks an eyebrow, slipping somewhat out of his knight mindset.

“Now what?” he asks, voice still emotionless and flat.

Fucking of course. Time grabs his ocarina.

Let’s try this again.

“Time, wait!”

- Eight -

The Jump Strike doesn’t work either, much to Time’s absolute frustration. He’s never regretted teaching the Hidden Skills to Twilight, knowing his descendant needed them on his quest, but right now? In this very moment?

Yeah, Time’s regretting it just a little bit.

He makes a mental note to stop letting Twilight and Wild spar together. Clearly Wild’s worked out ways around some of the Hidden Skills.

Have to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirteen -

“How many times is this?” Wild asks as Time stomps up to him.

“Does it really matter?”

“I mean, I’d love to boast.” Wild shrugs. “I’m pretty sure there's a betting pool on whether I'd be able to beat you or not.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.” Time says with a sigh. Normally he wouldn't even blink at the idea – it’s nice to have a low-stakes, casual joke among them, given the everything else they have to deal with – but none of them would make one for something as serious as this. “Let me past.” 

Wild smiles, weak and sad. “You know I can’t do that, Time.”

Time throws himself forward. It’s a dirty trick, one he’d never normally consider using, but he just needs to throw Wild off balance for just a second! He has a moment to see Wild’s completely unimpressed expression before Wild dodges, sliding backwards.

There’s no flurry rush, so Time presses onward, swinging the flat of his sword out. Wild moves back, sidestepping each swing, scrambling to get hold of his shield. Then he abruptly stops, freezing in place right as the Biggoron sword aligns with his throat.

Time, well… Time panics. He wants to get past, not kill Wild!

But he doesn’t have the chance to adjust the height of his blade, nor does Wild let him. Wild raises his shield and parries the blow at the last second, flickering out of sight as he does as his magic surges.

Ah, shit. Time knows how this goes. When he finds himself unarmed, he reaches for the ocarina.

Have to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Sixteen -

“That’s a pretty upset look on your face.” Wild observes as Time nears him. “Not going well?”

“You’re awfully smug about this.” Time tells him, disapproving and flat.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Wild replies innocently. “What number are you on?”

Time rolls his eye, coming to a stop only a few metres away. “I’m not feeding your ego, Wild. Let me past.”

“You know I can’t do that, Time.”

Same sad, apologetic smile. Same empty words. Time crosses his arms. “Before you even try to ‘reason with me’, have you considered that you all may be cursed and that I’m trying to help you?”

Wild tucks his thumbs into his belt. “Legend did raise that one, yeah.”

“What if he’s right?” Time practically pleads.

“What if you’re not?” Wild says right back, any trace of his usually playful personality completely wiped from his voice. “What if you really are cursed, Time?”

Time doesn’t really know what he expected. Curses are funny things, after all. He can try all he likes, but it’s extremely difficult to use words alone to break one that has this much control over the state of mind.

He draws his sword, looking at Wild, who stares back with that stoic look once again.

Words choke in his throat: pleas for Wild to listen to him, logical arguments for why what he’s doing will help, furious rants at this whole situation. In a way, he’s glad they’re stuck in his throat, for none of them will help here.

Time just shakes his head and stalks forward, trying to desensitise himself to what he has to do. Pulling his punches… well, that clearly isn’t going to get him anywhere. He has fairies in his pouch. As much as he doesn’t want to do this, he’s running out of time.

Wild launches into motion, a wooden ladle manifesting from the Slate as he lunges straight through Time’s guard. There’s a loud crack as he brings the ladle down hard and sharp against Time’s wrists, and Time swears violently, staggering back as his sword hits the ground. The head of the ladle lands next to it, vanishing into the long grass.

For a moment, there’s silence. Time stares wide-eyed at Wild, who actually grins back, utterly elated. Then his ocarina is back in his hands.

Have to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Seventeen -

“When the fuck did Twilight teach you the Mortal Draw?!” Time almost shouts the words, interrupting Wild’s usual question.

For some reason, Wild inexplicably brightens. “Oh, he didn’t. I know if I asked, Twi would be all ‘no cub, I’ve seen the bullshit you pull, I’m not teaching you that’, so I’ve been trying to get it right for months now! It finally worked?!”

Are you kidding me?

No one really talks about Wild’s rather vast repertoire of weapon mastery, rivalled only by Warriors and Legend's. It’s something they’ve all kind of acknowledged but never seen the need to bring up.

And yet Time had not been expecting him to teach himself the Hidden Skills just from watching Time and Twilight. Despite the situation and the frustration at being back here again, pride does curl in his chest, warm and bright.

“You need to let the enemy get closer for it to be truly effective.” He finds himself saying, because well… critique is critique and Wild had been sloppy. It had been Time’s complacency in the resets that had given him the advantage. “If an enemy sees you trying to clear the distance to perform the move, then it’ll be on guard and you’ll lose your advantage.”

Wild nods, clearly taking his advice to heart, and smiles. “Thanks, Time.”

“Now, will you let me past?”

Time doesn’t really know why he bothers asking, especially when Wild just looks at him. He sighs and unsheathes his sword again, carefully stalking closer. Wild watches, face falling blank, gaze flitting between the blade in Time’s hands and his eye.

“I am sorry.” Time offers. It sounds weak and paltry even to his ears.

Wild quirks up the corner of his mouth, a tiny chip in his intensely focused state. “I am too.”

And then there’s a wooden ladle slamming into Time’s hands again, Golden Goddesses above!

Time reels backwards, watching as Wild casts a sad look at the now broken ladle, before that grin reappears on his face.

“I,” Time tells him, trying to fill his voice with as much frustration as he possibly can, “am going to make sure Twilight never teaches you the Hidden Skills. Or even performs them around you.”

“Like that will stop me!” Wild’s laughter nearly drowns out the lilting notes of Time’s ocarina. “Oh shit, Time, wait!”

Have to try again.

- Twenty -

Trying to catch Wild off-guard by charging straight into the fight as soon as he can doesn’t work.

Wild, with the same grounded, immovable stance he takes when a Lynel is barrelling towards him at top speed, catches the first swing against his shield and parries without even blinking.

Time knows it’s over before he even feels the gentle ticking of Wild’s magic.

Need to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Twenty Two -

Time uses his bow exactly once. It goes about as well as he expected, though he does have to at least thank Wild for not using elemental arrows in response.

Need to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Twenty Six -

“You doing all right there, Time? You don’t look so good.”

There’s a strain along his brow which is on its way towards a headache, but Time doesn’t care to think about it at the moment. There are more important things to worry about and deal with.

“I’m fine, Wild. Move aside.”

He twists the megaton hammer in his hands, eyeing up Wild’s stance. As stupidly obvious as it sounds, the hammer is more than heavy enough to cause tremors when it strikes the ground. Maybe, just maybe, that’s his way past. That could be the best way to throw Wild off balance.

Not like it isn’t worth a shot at this point.

Time hefts the hammer up as he charges and slams it down. Wild hops to the side as the ground beneath them shakes with the force of the blow. Then there’s that gentle ticking pulse of Wild’s magic and the hammer is torn from his grip.

Maybe screaming in frustration would be a good idea. Time keeps it in the back of his mind, just in case.

Need to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Twenty Nine -

Wild tilts his head as Time approaches, looking somewhat concerned.

“I’m fine.” Time says before he can even ask. His head is starting to hurt now but he doesn’t have the time to worry about it. He can rest later; right now, everything inside of him is focused on getting past Wild.

“If you say so.” Wild responds dubiously, tapping an anxious beat against his thigh with his fingers.

Time lunges, unsheathing his sword as he covers the distance between them, and swings it out in a wide arc. Wild darts backwards, still strapping his shield to his arm, and side-steps the downward strike Time tries to catch him with.

“Why can’t you just get out of the way?!” Time hisses at him, gripping the hilt with both hands and leaping upwards.

“Uh you of all people should know the answer to that.” Wild points out, as though Time’s somehow missed the stubbornness that seems to run in the family.

He hops to the side of Time’s jump slash, flurry rush already ticking in their ears, and the Biggoron sword is ripped from Time’s hands.

Need to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirty Three -

“How many times is this?” Wild’s eyebrows furrow and he leans forward a bit to look at Time’s face. “Are you okay? You look horrible.”

“Thank you, Wild, I live to impress.” Time says dryly. He does rub his fingers against the side of his temple, where that earlier strain has become an aching knotted muscle. It’s nothing serious but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying.

“You’ve used that ocarina a lot, I’m guessing.” Wild plucks at the hem of his tunic, looking worried. “It’s not draining you or anything, right?”

Despite the circumstances, Time manages to appreciate the concern, especially given Wild’s complete lack of knowledge about magic. When Legend had learned that he uses physical stamina to control his champion ability when letting arrows fly mid-air, he’d nearly had a conniption.

Time shakes his head. “The ocarina has its own magic; it’s not using mine.”

It’s a huge blessing, considering how powerful the ocarina actually is and all that it’s capable of doing. While Legend and Hyrule are the most magically attuned of them all, Time does have his own rather large pool of magic, but it would still be a different story entirely if he was powering the resets from his own reserves.

“For what it’s worth given this,” Wild waves a hand to their general surroundings and situation, “I am glad to hear that.”

“Enough to let me past?” Time asks wryly.

Just because the ocarina is a separate entity doesn’t mean the resets don’t have an effect on him and by the Three, he’s tired. If he didn’t know that what he needed to do was so important, Time would consider a break. Even going back a little bit further just to rest up would be a wonderful thing.

If only he could go back to the start of all this and avoid it all together, find that spell before the rest of the Chain can be cursed. But that had been six days ago and the ocarina can only do so much when wielded by someone who isn’t part of the Royal Family.

“Ah, no.” Wild shakes his head. The movement catches the afternoon sun, casting an odd glow across his scars.

Figures.

Time’s starting to run out of ideas, if he’s being completely honest, and the frustration about being here again isn’t helping, serving only to cloud his judgement and delay his reaction times.

Head-on approaches are not going to work, he’s more than ready to admit that now. He can’t sneak around to try and find another entrance because when they explored the temple six days ago, it had been largely crumbling to pieces, leaving only one way in and out. And any other kind of detour will cost him precious seconds he can’t afford to lose.

Something sparks to life in his mind when he remembers an item that’s been gathering dust in his pouch. What… what if he pretended to give up though? Just long enough to catch Wild off guard. It’s a cheap tactic, but Time’s desperate now. He has to get moving.

Why not? What exactly does he have to lose here?

With a sigh, Time lets his shoulders slump. He unsheathes his sword and holds it out to one side, dropping it into the grass. Both of Wild’s eyebrows rise at that and Time snorts, raising his hands carefully to shoulder-level.

“You’re seriously giving up?” Wild says incredulously.

“I… I can’t get past you.” Time replies softly. “Just… please trust me. I want to help.”

Wild winces at that, flicking his gaze away, and Time takes the chance to slide forward a bit, moving soundlessly through the grass.

“It’s not that we don’t think that you do,” Wild says, his eyes now dropping to the ground, and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s just we need you to trust us too. I know that you think there’s nothing wrong with you, but you’ve been acting off all week, Time. We just want to help.”

Time moves forward another few inches, closer and closer. He drops a hand to his waist, slipping it into his pouch. His fingers close around the rough wooden shell of a Deku nut.

“I know you all do,” he says, “and I’m sorry for this.”

Wild lets out a quiet snort. “Not as sorry as I am for this.”

In a flash, he moves, grabbing an arrow from his quiver and hurling it at the ground. Time has exactly one second to recognise the spiky yellow arrowhead and try to throw himself back, before the shock arrow hits the ground and sparks to life.

Small electric currents dance up Time’s gauntlets, not enough to stun or cause serious damage but enough to make him flinch back and hiss in pain.

Wild watches him for a long moment, shield on his arm once more. “You don’t even realise how bad it is, do you? You didn’t even notice that you were giving yourself away.”

He gestures to the ground with his free hand where their shadows point past Wild – every movement obvious and clear as though Wild had been looking straight at him. Time snarls in anger; foiled by a literal shadow, are you kidding me?!

“I am not cursed, Wild.” He shakes out the last of the electricity from his hands and goes for his pouch.

“That’s not a mistake you ever make, Time.” Wild says sharply, anger warping his face into something hard and cold. “Are you really going to ignore that?!”

Time cradles the ocarina in his hands and meets Wild’s gaze. “I am going to fix this.”

“Are you even listening to me? To yourself?! Time!”

Need to try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirty Four -

Time tries to fake-surrender again. Throwing the Deku nut as soon as he can has surprisingly worse consequences, because Wild responds by using a Lynel bow instead of just throwing the shock arrow, relying on the electrical burst to catch Time while he’s blinded.

Even when he’s not able to see, Wild’s still an annoyingly fantastic shot, and yells at Time to “drink an elixir, you look horrible!”

Try again.

- Thirty Five -

Time goes back to the frontal assault tactic. Straight out of the gate, Time launches into a Jump Strike. Wild leaps back, dodging with ease. Of course he’s still dodging it, aaargh.

Try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirty Six -

He knows he’s pushing his luck now. When he had been a child, there had been enough time between uses of the ocarina for him to recover, to not suffer any consequences. He’d been lucky to never experience them but all magic items have a backlash eventually.

Now, of course, he’s in a very different situation and he swears he can feel the strain it’s leaving on his body. The headache that has been brewing beneath his brow for several resets is now pounding in time with his heartbeat, made only worse by the amount of frustration and rage surging through him.

But he can’t afford distractions. He needs to do this!

“Hey, are you feeling okay, Time? Whoa! Okay then!”

Wild just manages to dodge the first few strikes, ducking low to the ground as he straps his shield to his arm. Time presses forward, blade gleaming in the sunlight. He heaves it downwards and Wild darts to the side with hardly a second to spare, the edge of the sword barely missing him. His magic ticks in Time’s ears.

Time gets knocked flat on his back as Wild yanks the Biggoron sword out of his hands, and his head flares in protest. But Time had never stopped trying to do what he had to just because he was hurt.

Try again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirty Seven -

Time tries to throw everything he has into the fight, hoping a more haphazard style would counter Wild’s champion ability long enough for him to gain the upper hand.

“Dinraal’s flames, Time! Can you just slow down for a second?!” Wild yelps, darting around an uncontrolled blow that swung a bit too high.

He’s not quite fast enough and the tip of Time’s sword cuts a neat line through the shoulder of his tunic. A small patch of red blooms in its wake and Wild claps a hand over it, more out of shock than pain.

Time swallows heavily at the sight of Wild's blood on his sword, but doesn’t drop the blade. “Move.”

Wild stares at him for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he straightens up and faces Time head-on, cold and harsh. “No.”

“Fucking—just get out of my way, Wild!” Time snaps, stalking forward.

He swirls the sword up, gathering momentum in the blade, and heaves it at Wild, carving through the air. Wild takes a half-step back, letting the sword swing by mere inches from his face. At the peak of its swing, Time changes direction and jabs the Biggoron sword forward, and Wild dodges, the air filling with the soft tick of his magic.

Time grits his teeth as his sword is wrenched from his hands.

It’s this Din-damned headache!

Again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirty Eight -

“Time, are you okay?! You look horrible.” Wild asks as Time storms towards him.

It’s a fair question. His head is aching but Time can’t stop now, not when he’s sure he’s got an actual strategy. This is the one!

His first haphazard swing does throw Wild off-balance, too diagonal for a backflip or side-hop, and Time tries the jab again, moving as fast as he can while he has the advantage. This time there’s no flurry rush or no soft ticking of magic. What comes instead is a small yelp of pain as the edge of the blade cuts into Wild’s cheek.

There’s no mistaking the horrified look Wild gives him as blood seeps from the cut and trickles down his face. It's not necessary though; the injury alone is enough to make Time’s stomach drop. This isn’t… this definitely is not what he wants, what he’s been trying to do here.

But if it gets Wild to move, some part of him whispers, oily and callous.

“Move.” Time commands again, forcing his hands not to shake.

Wild grabs his shield. “No.”

The continuing defiance, blatant and insolent, ignites something inside Time, and before he realises it, he’s lunging forward, sword raised. Wild stares him down right up until his shield slams into the Biggoron sword and his magic fills the air.

Again.

“Time, wait!”

- Thirty Nine -

This is beyond frustrating. He just… is it so horrible that Time wants them all safe?!

He hits the ground hard after the latest flurry rush, still hearing the soft ticking of Wild’s magic in his ears, and nearly roars with rage.

“Time?” Wild frowns at him, wary and cautious. The cuts on his forearm drip blood off his fingertips and onto the grass at his feet.

“Do not say anything.” Time growls, digging his fingers into the dirt beneath him. He can just feel time slipping away. His window of opportunity to stop all this chaos and madness is closing and he’s still stuck here! For all the progress he’s finally been making against Wild, he’s still getting nowhere!

Wild, being Wild of course, completely ignores the order, hesitantly stepping closer. “How many resets have you had?”

“I’m fine, Wild!”

“Sure.” Wild agrees. “But have you been like this in all of them?”

Time rolls his eye, shoving himself to his feet. “Like what exactly? Frustrated that everyone else is letting themselves be controlled? Infuriated that none of them can snap out of it?!”

“I was going to say ‘upset’, but yeah, let’s go with that.” Whatever distance Wild had covered between them is immediately lost as he skitters back, not looking away from Time’s hands. For some reason, the action grates on Time’s already frayed nerves.

Thankfully, Wild doesn’t say any more. He just watches as Time paces in a futile attempt to burn off some of the irritation building inside him. Why can’t Wild just understand what he’s trying to do?!

“Maybe I should get the Master Sword.” Wild suggests carefully after a long moment of silence, unhooking the Slate from his belt. Despite his efforts to be discreet, Time can still see him wipe his bloody hand against his trousers.

It turns his stomach, but the anger at Wild’s determination to ignore what Time has to say, what he has to do, easily overrides any nausea.

“I am not cursed, Wild!” Time yells, throwing his hands skyward. Yes he may be resetting the last few minutes over and over and over again but if Wild could cotton on to that fact already, that would be great.

Wild nods in what’s probably supposed to be a placating manner, but it instead comes off as patronising. “Yeah but hear me out: it breaks curses, right? Or something like that. So if I’m the one who’s cursed and I hold it, that should solve the problem yeah? And if you try as well, it’ll put my mind at ease too.”

Time rubs his fingers into the sides of his temple, trying to relieve the pressure building up in his skull. “No, I’ve lost too much time here already.”

“I don’t know if resetting is the right decision, Time. You… you really don’t look well.” Wild says, finger still hovering over the screen of the Slate. He actually looks worried, not mildly concerned like he had been earlier.

“I’m fine!” Time snaps again, reaching for his ocarina. His fingers brush over something smooth and cool and he pauses. Considers it for a moment.

Clarity hits him in the face hard and loud. Wait, no that is a horrible idea. Warriors would literally kill him for even entertaining it and then Malon would bring him back and kill him again.

But he needs to do this. He’s so close. He has to try again. As soon as he finds that spell, he can rest. He’s no idiot, he knows the consequences of using that mask. He just… does he want to risk it yet? Risk Malon, risk the Chain, risk everything?

No. For now, he’ll keep his promise.

“Time.”

There’s something in Wild’s tone that makes him pause, something Time would call fear if he heard it from a normal person. When he looks, Wild has one hand stretched out, fingers nervously curled in the air near his shoulder, and oh, it is fear he heard.

Wild swallows. “I am serious, Time. I know you’re worried about us, but I think something is wrong.”

Rage burns in Time’s chest, getting to him before he can even process Wild’s words, and he swats the hand away, snarling out, “If you just let me get past then I can fix it!”

He pulls his ocarina back out and nearly jumps when Wild’s hand clamps down on his wrist. Panic is written all over the Champion’s face.

“Time, please.” He practically begs. “Don’t.”

Again.

- Forty -

Wild stares at him, mouth open in shock, as Time approaches. “Hylia above, Time, you’re bleeding.”

Time swipes a hand against his top lip, which does nothing to stop his blood nose and only smears it across his cheek. “I’m fine. Move out of the way, Wild.”

“How many times have you been here?!” Wild sounds aghast, hovering anxiously just out of arm’s reach. “Does the ocarina always do this?”

The sight just fans the flames of Time’s anger, and he practically rips the Biggoron sword from its scabbard, pointing it in Wild’s direction. Wild doesn’t even dignify the action with acknowledgement, instead staying focused on Time’s face, biting his lip worriedly.

“I think you need to take a break or something. You don’t look—oh shit!” Wild squawks, tripping over himself as he tries dodges Time’s swing. He barely catches himself before he hit the ground, hands pressed against the dirt, and a line of red stains the side of his tunic.

He stares up at Time through a curtain of messy hair in wide-eyed disbelief and horror. “Time!”

“Get out of the way, Wild!” Time roars, words somewhat garbled by his bleeding nose.

Wild rolls past the next swing, scrambling back to his feet, and grabs his shield, holding it up warily.

Time prowls closer. The rage inside him that's been growing through every single reset feels like a physical thing now, coiled around his ribs and pressed against his heart. If Wild would just get out of his fucking way, then this would all be over.

“Time, look, I really don’t want to fight right now.” Wild says, eyes fixed on the sword Time’s holding in an almost lazy grip.

“Then let me past.” Time tells him, voice flat. “I need to get into that temple.”

He heaves out the Biggoron sword again and Wild dances backwards. There’s no gentle pulse of a flurry rush, no activation of his magic, so Time presses his advantage. This time for sure.

It’s a mockery of the earlier resets; Wild darting backwards, staying just out of range of Time's sword, but now Time doesn’t care what he has to do. He’s pushed himself too far, reset too many times, and he is going to get past Wild no matter what.

Of course just as he lets himself think that, Wild’s shield goes up and all Time can feel is his magic.

Furious, Time grabs his ocarina.

Again.

“Time, wait!”

- Forty One -

“Hylia above, Time, you’re bleeding.” Wild stares at him, slack-jawed and worried.

Time doesn’t bother to answer now. He knows how to get past now; he’d been so close before. He won't give up.

Wild is complacent, as he is every reset. To the Champion, Time isn’t an opponent he has to fear: he’s one to expect routine from, someone who follows protocols or, at the very least, someone who conveys his intentions from the beginning of a battle.

And that had been Time’s problem. He’s a fool for not realising it sooner, for not understanding the answer to his earlier question is blindingly obvious.

How do you beat someone who’s at his strongest when he knows exactly how you fight? How do you beat someone like Wild who throws himself at an enemy again and again and again until he’s ingrained single pattern they could possibly have into his mind?

You don’t give him a chance to learn a new pattern.

Somewhere inside him, Time hates what he’s about to do. Hates what they’re both going to remember him doing. But he just needs to get past.

The moment he’s close enough, Time rips his sword from its sheath and heaves it upwards, giving Wild no warning. Wild, eyes wide and face full of shock, tries throwing himself sideways, but Time can feel when the edge of his blade cuts into his skin.

Wild stumbles back, one hand pressing against the long, bleeding cut on his chest and shoulder and stares at Time. The shock from past resets is still there, but what hurts the most is the betrayed expression that works its way onto his face. 

The expression put there by the knowledge that Time had attacked him without hesitation.

The accusation, silent and wordless, sits heavy on Time’s conscience, but he can’t allow himself to think about it. He lunges forward, closing the gap between them as quickly as he can. He reaches a hand out, trying to snag Wild’s tunic in his grasp. He’s so close.

Wild snaps into action. He shoves his arm out, elbow slamming into Time’s wrist and knocking it aside. He slides forward, ducking inside Time’s guard, and Time feels his fingers brush against the hilt of the Biggoron sword. The momentum from Wild’s shove had flung his right arm back, giving Time no chance to grab onto Wild and throw him back. But…

Time spins with the force of the shove, tightening his grip on the sword, and slams the flat of the blade hard into Wild’s injured shoulder. Wild staggers to the side, nearly dropping to one knee with a pained yell choked in his throat. Time goes on the offensive. He’s so close!

He swings the Biggoron sword downwards and Wild barely manages to scramble out of the way, retreating a few steps down the path towards the temple. He stands there for a moment, staring Time down, chest heaving and shirt bloody.

“Move.” Time commands.

“No.” Wild spits back, defiant and furious.

“I will get past you,” Time promises, “and it's up to you whether you’re still standing or not when I do.”

Wild raises his chin, issuing a silent challenge, and takes up his shield. Something in his expression goes hard and cold.

With a roar, Time throws himself forward, tip of his sword cutting a line through the grass and leaves as he charges. Wild manages to sidestep his first upswing at the last second, shield tucked close to his body, and dances around the horizontal slash Time throws himself into.

Time works to keep the attacks as uncoordinated and haphazard as possible, using the momentum of each swing to lead into the next. Incandescent fury pounds in his ears. Wild barely manages to stay out of the way of the onslaught, eyes flitting around and cataloguing every movement Time makes.

It's useless, Time knows. There’s no pattern for him to follow.

But that doesn’t stop his magic from tick tick ticking in their ears when he does find the opening he had been searching for, backflipping over a strike that went a little too wide.

Time hits the ground hard, sword torn from his hands. His vision whites out as his head throbs, protesting the abrupt change in position, and sends pain shooting through his body like lightning.

When it passes, Wild is standing near him, Slate in one hand and eyes wide. “W-what’s happening? Is this normal?! Are… are you okay?”

The hesitancy and nervousness in his voice and his body language stings, burrowing into Time's heart like a knife.

“Time?” Wild inches closer, carefully sinking to his knees. “I think you need to stop. Please. Something’s wrong.”

For the first time since this all started six days ago, Time lets himself consider the proposition. He… really does want to stop, wants to get away from this pain and this rage. He's at the point where he doesn’t care if the Chain finds the tablet and destroy it and the world.

Wild’s right; something is wrong.

But that’s what we're trying to fix, something in his mind points out.

Is that right? Time tries to remember, searching through the rage-filled fog that’s begun to enshroud his mind. There’s… there’s something in the temple. He knows there is. He needs to get to it. He needs to get past Wild.

Wild’s not looking at him, tapping at the Slate frantically. Time reaches for his ocarina.

One more try, the something inside him says, that’s all we need.

“Wind, c’mon, pick up pick up pick up, please, I need you guys to hurry and pick up, wait Time, don’t you dare touch that!”

- Forty Two -

Everything feels wrong. Time doesn’t quite understand what, but there's... something is off. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog that’s seeped into his mind and muddled his thoughts.

The temple, something prompts him eventually. We need to get to the temple.

Yes. The temple. He needs to go there to fix something. Time starts walking, some kind of muscle memory taking over and guiding him in the right direction.

The pathway curves, revealing the open entrance to the temple and someone with sunlit blue tunic.

Wild.

Right. How… why had he forgotten about Wild being here?

His concern is squashed by a wave of calm. It doesn’t matter why. Just got to get past him.

Okay. Just got to get past Wild.

A memory rises unbidden to the forefront of his mind; the sloping surface of the Fierce Deity mask under his fingers, and Time hesitates. That… the mask is not something he wants to ever use again, not something he wants to lose himself to ever again. But… he has to get past Wild, right?

The memory of the mask dances in front of his eyes, oddly forceful. His hand is reaching for the mask before he can stop himself, drawing it from his pouch. Time stares down at it, taking in the curse markings that match the ones that adorn half his face, and his stomach churns. Is this really the best idea?

“Time?” Wild’s voice calls and he glances up, vision going fuzzy.

Wild is looking at the mask, lips pressed into such a thin line that they’re bloodless; then he tears his eyes away to meet Time’s gaze. “Hylia above, Time, you look awful. Wait, you’re bleeding! What happened?!”

“I’m fine.” Time says softly, and Wild lets out a sardonic snort.

“Okay, sure. Why are you holding that mask?” There’s a dangerous edge in Wild’s words and his eyes are focused back on the Fierce Deity mask.

Why is he holding it?

“I need it.” Time tries to be confident in the statement but everything just feels wrong.

“Maybe you should put it away?” Wild suggests.

It sounds like a fantastic idea but something inside Time recoils at the thought. That familiar rage bubbles up in his stomach. How dare Wild say that, the Something whispers. We need this to get to the temple.

“I don’t think I should.” Time finally answers.

“Okay then.” Wild nods, sharp and jerky. Has he always been this close? Time can’t remember. “Listen to me, Time. Wars said that if I see that thing, I need to take you down instantly. And given that you look like shit, I don’t think that’s going to be that hard. So here’s the plan: you put that down. Now please.”

“No, I need it.” Time finds himself saying, clutching the edges of the mask tighter. “I need to get to the temple.”

“Are you—” Wild cuts himself off with a sharp, shaky inhale of air and steps closer. “Okay, how about this then: put the mask down and we can go to the temple together? I… you really don’t look well. I can help you get there.”

We should put the mask on, the Something suggests, and then we’ll be strong enough to get to the temple.

Despite how it makes his stomach churn, Time nods along with the logic. It would solve his problem, even if he doesn’t like it. The Fierce Deity would be able to get him into the temple to do… to fix… he has to fix something.

He looks at the mask, his arm lifting it up towards his face and wants to vomit.

A hand locks onto Time’s wrist, vice-like and unforgiving in strength, and stops the movement. Wild is there, panic and fear bright in his eyes, and carefully starts to pry Time’s fingers off of the mask. Time lets him, oddly muted. Everything feels… muffled. Quieter. Distant.

“Wild, there’s something wrong.” He manages to say.

“No shit.” Wild agrees, gently taking the mask out of his hand.

Time sways violently, the Something writhing around inside him and snarling with anger. He feels hands grab for him in a frantic scramble to hold him upright, but his legs apparently have decided to stop working and his knees buckle.

“Time! Time, hey! Can you hear me?!”

Everything feels foggy and disconnected, almost as though he’s floating untethered from the world. Then something in the fog grabs onto him and it burns. Fire swells up, eating its way along his body and leaving everything screaming in its wake.

“Oh shit, Time?! Fuck! Uh, okay you know what? Sky can yell at me later, I’m trying this.”

Barely felt over the fire consuming him, a new something – something that doesn’t belong to the fog – takes his hands, trying to manoeuvre his burning body. His fingers are pressed closed, holding onto something, and light plunges into his mind, flaring bright and sharp and holy.

The fog recoils, digging into his mind, and the light only grows stronger. The purge, when it does happen, is excruciating. He might scream. He’s not sure. There’s nothing to hear or see or feel other than the burning and the light.

As quickly as it came, the light retracts with a soft kind sigh, leaving everything dark and quiet. Time slips away without complaint.

It takes him a while to claw out of the darkness but when he does, Time really would just prefer to be unconscious again. His whole body feels heavy; the type of sensation he would normally associate with severe blood loss which… might have happened? Maybe?

He's not quite sure. His mind feels slow and hazy, the remnants of sleep clinging on to his thoughts and making them move slower than normal.

Underneath the heaviness in his limbs is a more familiar bone-deep ache; something that speaks of pushing himself too far past his limits. Every inch of his body hurts, screaming at him to go back to the darkness until it can get its shit together. Even opening his eye to stare up at the tent canvas above him hurts ooowwww.

He blinks, once, twice, then rolls his head to the side. Oh, that might be why he feels heavy.

Wind is curled under his arm like a cat, using his shoulder as a pillow. For Time, the War of Eras was many years ago, but this is still a familiar sight. The memories of Wind literally wrangling with his younger self in an attempt to get him to sleep are ones Time will cherish for the rest of his life.

When Time gathers the energy to look to his left, he’s met by Twilight and Wild, both asleep and as close to him as they can get. Much like Wind, Wild has pressed up against Time’s side, with his fingers pressing into the pulse point at Time’s wrist.

Twilight, who’s clearly learnt from experience, is settled with his chin on the top of Wild’s head – thus avoiding waking up with hair in his face – and has flung an arm over Wild’s shoulders. His palm rests on Time’s chest, right above his heart.

Oh, that’s not a good sign. As horrible as he's feeling right now, it's clear that he was worse.

But, underneath all that, Time just feels... shocked. Surprised may be the better word. Because would it be horrible to say Time didn't expect Wild to be anywhere near him?

Most… most of what had happened is hazy, the memories familiar but foreign in his mind, as though everything was happening to someone else and Time had been a nothing more than a spectator.

But he remembers drawing blood. Drawing Wild’s blood. Repeatedly. He remembers the sharp edge of his sword glinting red in the sunlight. And he remembers Wild's betrayed look, all stunned and hurt, put there by the devastating truth that Time would willingly attack and injure him.

Time's breath catches in his throat, leaving his lips in an unsteady exhale. 

It may not have happened to anyone but Time, may have been wiped from everyone else’s memories, but the image of Wild’s blood on his sword and knowing that it was him who put it there is not one that will leave him any time soon.

Fuck, how is he supposed to look Wild in the eye and pretend he doesn’t know what cutting him with a sword feels like?

“Sprite? You awake?” Warriors’ head pops into Time’s line of sight.

He looks exhausted: his hair all dishevelled and the skin under his eyes dark with lack of sleep. It’s a portent of doom when Warriors looks that messy outside of battle. The pressure to keep up the façade imposed upon him doesn’t let him go very easily.

“Unfortunately.” Time croaks, shoving the thoughts swirling around in his mind away and grabbing onto the current moment with both hands. He needs normalcy, something regular and safe. He can’t think about the details of what had happened right now, he can’t.

He feels Warriors’ blessedly cool hand rest against his forehead and forces himself to take a breath. “What happened?”

Warriors sighs. “You got cursed. We fixed it but you still nearly killed yourself in the process. Or the curse tried to kill you at least. You didn’t have much magic left and your body was shutting down.”

That’s… not what Time meant but, well, it’s something safe so he doesn’t correct Warriors. Maybe later he’ll look back at the memories, see them for what really happened rather instead of through the lens of that fog. For now, he makes himself focus on the simple details, not what lies beneath the surface.

There’s a light tug on his fringe and Time refocuses on Warriors, whose face has twisted into something sour and upset. He crosses his arms. “Don’t think I didn’t hear about the mask, Time.”

Yet another memory Time unfortunately had not lost to the hazy shroud; the cool feel of the Fierce Deity mask in his hands and the pit in his stomach as it got closer to his face. He swallows, twitching his limbs just to make sure they’re still his. “I wouldn’t, I told you.”

Warriors just sighs again, one hand shifting to cup the back of Time’s head and the other reaching for a waterskin. It says a lot about how long he’s been unconscious for when no one wakes as Warriors helps him sip the water.

“I know.” Warriors says eventually, a stifled yawn cracking against the last syllable. “How many times did you use the ocarina?”

“Uh…” Time has to actually think about it. The resets are blurry and meshed together, but he doesn’t expect them to ever become coherent. “Not sure. Less than fifty, I think. I hope.”

“Legend thinks that the curse was able to progress every time you used it.” Warriors tells him in that flat, rapid tone he used in strategy meetings to deliver orders. “He swears it shouldn’t have gotten that bad that quickly.”

“How’d you break it?” Time asks, finally giving up on actually looking at things and closing his eye again. Oh that’s actually a lot better.

“It was some kind of Poe or ghost that fed off of magic. Ledge thinks the curse was meant to draw you back to it so it could completely drain you. Sky used the Master Sword to kill it once we found it.”

One of Warriors’ hands returns to its spot on Time's forehead while the other ever-so-gently presses against the pulse at his throat. “Wild said you collapsed and seized while he was getting the mask away from you – which we’re guessing happened because Sky killed the Poe –, so he used the Slate to call the Master Sword to him and made you hold onto it for good measure.”

Time hums. He remembers the burning, how he felt like that strange rage was trying to tear him apart. “A good idea. It did not want to let go.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Warriors snorts, an ugly harsh sound that somehow manages to sound more worried than annoyed. “You’ve been unconscious for nearly four days.”

That would explain a lot, if Time is honest with himself. It's been a long time since his magic had been this overworked, and it's easy to tell he's still got a few more days of recovery ahead of him.

"It's definitely going to be longer than four days." He tells Warriors with a resigned sigh. "You should sleep too, though. You look like crap.”

“Thanks.” Warriors huffs, sarcasm almost tangible in his voice. He makes an abrupt noise in the back of his throat and tugs on Time's hair again. "Wait, did you say nearly fifty resets?"

There's something... odd in his tone, an off-beat Time doesn't know how to respond to. But right now, he really doesn't want to think about what had just happened, so he lets out a short, forced chuckle and says, "Don't you dare tell them. I was cursed!"

There's no reply to his attempt at a joke, so Time opens his eye again. Warriors has his head tilted, eyebrows creased together in his trademarked analytical expression. His gaze goes from Time to Wild and then back again.

Time frowns; the look reigniting the concern he'd just managed to push away. Does... does he even want to know what Warriors is thinking about? Is that a conversation he wants to try stomaching right now?

“Warriors?” He finally asks, the name leaving him as a barely audible whisper.

With a shake of his head, Warriors breaks out of his trance, blinking rapidly as though he'd quite literally forgotten where he was. “Don’t worry about it for now, Sprite. I need to talk to Legend about something. Just… get some rest for now.”

To add insult to injury, his lips move upwards into that fake ‘Captain Link will handle this’ smile; the one that only works at a distance.

Time tries to fix his expression into something unimpressed and Warriors just sighs in response. "Would you, for five minutes, stop worrying about everyone else and try to rest? I swear it's not important right now."

While Time would prefer to push Warriors into telling him whatever is on his mind, terrified of what dots he's connected, his whole body still feels like one gigantic bruise and his mind is too tired to pry. He breathes out harshly through his nose. "Fine. But only if you try to get some sleep too. You need it."

Warriors rolls his eyes, finally managing a genuine smile. “Okay, fine, Mask. Twist my arm, why don't you?”

He crawls over to settle in against Wind, who makes a noise of protest and curls tighter into Time’s side, and sends Time a sarcastic smirk. "Happy?"

"Thrilled."

“Yeah, you look it. Now go to sleep.”

Time snorts at the playfully snappy tone, and closes his eye.

There are things he has to face tomorrow, actions he needs to apologise for whether they are remembered or not. He needs to talk to Wild properly, needs to ensure he never sees that horrified and betrayed look on his face for as long as he lives. Needs to make sure that it's an expression none of them ever have to wear.

But those are things to deal with tomorrow.

For now, surrounded by those he cares for and who care for him, Time feels sleep come for him easily.

“Champion, are you sure about this?”

“Huh, what? Yeah, of course. I’m not gonna make you, Twi or Wind do it; I know what Time means to you guys.”

“That’s not what I meant, though I do appreciate it. But are you—”

“Wars, I know nothing of magic. I won’t be of any use in here unless you happen to want something to explode, in which case everyone else is also capable of that. Let me handle this.”

“Obtuse is not a good look on you, Wild; you know what I’m getting at here.”

“Shows what you know; obtuse is a fantastic look on me. What do I need to watch out for?”

“Are you seriou– Fine. There’s a mask.”

“It’s Time. Of course there’s a mask.”

“Don’t be a smartass. It’s got markings that match the ones on Time’s face. If you see it, do not let him put it on no matter what, do you understand?”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

“Fuck, that salute was horrible.”

“Ugh, yeah it really was. But hey now you’re trying not to smile, so it’s absolutely worth it.”

“You’re such a little shit. Just keep him out there as long as possible. Hopefully once we find and destroy the source of this curse, he’ll go back to normal.”

“Captain.”

“What is it?”

“You really think he’ll use that ocarina?”

“I don’t know what this curse might make him do. I’d just rather you be ready for it than not. And Wild?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful. You’ve seen how he’s been acting since we left this place. Don’t expect him to be the same as he always is.”

“It’ll be fine, Warriors. Have some faith.”

“I’m leaving that to you and Sky, thanks.”

“I’m sure Sky can spare enough faith for you blasphemers then.”

“You say that, but Legend’s with us.”

“Fine, I’ll say a prayer for you all as well.”

“Your benevolence and magnanimity will get me through the rest of the day.”

“Now who’s the little shit? Ow okay, I’m going, I’m going. Don’t blow anything up without me.”

“Hey, Wild? Just…”

“You seriously don’t need to say anything. I volunteered to do this, remember? I’m not going to regret that.”

“Don't you dare say it's better you do this than any of us; you know it's not true.”

“... Of course it isn't. See you later, Captain.”

Chapter Text

There’s a streak of red on the edge of Time’s sword.

If Wild had been good at pretending, he’d let his mind believe it to be rust or monster blood. But he has long learnt his lesson about lying to himself.

He turns the blade slightly, gleaming metal catching the firelight. The claymore, well-polished and cared for, is pristine except for the streak of blood near the tip of the blade.

It’s a concerning sight, for obvious reasons. But the chief one, in Wild’s opinion, is this: while Time had been somewhat bruised and severely drained of his magic when the others had succeeded in breaking the curse, there hadn’t been a single open wound anywhere on him. No cuts or scrapes. Nothing that would cause a man to bleed. There had only been drying blood on his face and around his nose; nothing on his hands.

This all leads to the first conclusion: the blood does not belong to Time.

Besides, if it had, why would it even be on his own sword? Wild could excuse it if it was around the hilt and guard, but on the actual edge of the blade?

The thought of ‘maybe I put it there’ floats unprompted through Wild’s mind and his stomach revolts at the very idea. They all have their mishaps with friendly fire; it’s unavoidable when you have nine people fighting side by side in a melee. But the idea that it could’ve been him who had somehow used Time’s sword to hurt him goes beyond an intrusive thought and becomes something wholly unwelcome to even exist in his mind.

Unfortunately ruling that it is Time’s blood out leads to the second conclusion, which Wild definitely does not like either.

If he hadn’t picked up the Biggoron sword and attacked Time with it at some point during however many resets Time had experienced, then that means that the blood on the sword belongs to Wild himself. And there’s only one person who could’ve put it there, and that person has been unconscious for two days straight.

Perhaps the worst thing about this realisation is that… Wild doesn’t actually know how to feel about it.

He’s… he’s not exactly close to Time. Disapproval, or at least neutral disinterest, is the main theme of their interactions. Whatever blood may tie them together is thin, spread out over more than ten thousand years. Wild is no Twilight. He’s not exactly the descendant Time wants.

Thing is, Wild doesn’t need or desire Time’s approval.

He’s done that song and dance before, played the role people wanted him to be and dressed him up as. He remembers the way his words would choke in his throat and the way his emotions would refuse to grace his face. It had taken almost a year of his journey for spite to fully and completely overcome the imposed need to be that perfect knight, and Wild has no intention of going back to it. He’s happier now, being himself once again.

At the end of the day, it’s not his problem if anyone is disappointed by him not meeting their expectations. And surprisingly – to him at least – he hadn’t been the only one in the group to come to that very conclusion.

With the name ‘Link’ comes the pressure to shoulder the weight of the world. The role of a hero is a limiting one. You can’t be yourself; you have to be the perfect person, someone who will always be there to make the right decisions to keep everyone safe, and do so without complaint.

They’re all used to pretending, to hiding themselves away, but those façades hadn’t stayed up for long. They’d been chipped away slowly but surely with the knowledge that every single member of the Chain understood in a way no one else had managed to yet. Those masks had come down, no longer needed due to the simple fact that among likeminded heroes they were all safe to be themselves once again.

Those Wild had felt the most distrust from at the start have now become some of his closest friends.

He knows Warriors trusts him in combat and in reconnaissance, accepts his experience and knowledge as truth without question. Four still gets that fevered look every time Wild manages to break a weapon he forged, though now it’s because he’s determined to work out just how Wild’s magic actually manages to degrade them so quickly.

And it had taken a long talk with Sky about the Master Sword reflecting its wielders before Sky fully understood why the Sword would break and reform in Wild’s hands. Even the mere mention of the Trials of the Sword had resulted in him flushing red with rage, furious the ten thousand year old Sheikah monks would demand such a thing.

All those things had helped settle Wild, had made him feel like he was starting to find his place in the group beyond ‘archery support’ and ‘Twilight’s chaotic protégé’.

Time, though. Wild’s never been able to work out just where they stand. He’s given up trying to figure it out, honestly, because he doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t need that acknowledgement to be happy with who he is.

But.

Well.

It’s one thing to think you’ve come to terms with that disconnection, and another thing entirely to find your blood on your ancestor’s sword.

What had actually happened? Had he pushed Time too far? Overlooked the warnings and gotten cocky? Been too much of an ass? It’s not impossible. Actually, it’s very likely.

Wild likes to tease and play, but Time does not. It’s not fair to say that the Old Man doesn’t have a sense of humour, because he absolutely does. It’s just different to Wild’s. And Wild suspects that, to Time, that difference is an irritation.

He looks back at the claymore in his lap and swallows. There’s a heavy feeling in his gut.

Blood on sword, you know? His blood on Time’s sword, you know?

It’s stupid how much this is affecting him. Wild’s been hurt more times than he can count. He’s used to seeing his blood and patching himself up. But for some reason, this is different.

Maybe it's because this isn't something he had ever allowed himself to consider to possibly happen.

Time and Wild are not close, but Wild hadn’t expected this. And yes, it had been his intention to make sure no one else’s blood ended up there because he’s seen Time in action, seen the look the Old Man gets as he carves through a foe.

That look would’ve destroyed Twilight if it was aimed at him. And it nearly had been Twilight too. Never has Wild been so thankful for Warriors just clicking with his mindset sometimes, catching just what Wild had been wanting to avoid when he’d spoken over Twilight and Wind in the temple.

And sure, he was the logical option for the situation. His magic is unique and hard to get around. Everyone falls back to what they’ve been taught eventually, returns to habits embedded deep within their blood and muscle when they’re lost to adrenaline. And that’s when Wild has always worked best.

But he had also been damage control; a safe alternative to sending those Time most cares for to face him in a flimsy attempt at psychological warfare. This is a simple fact, one both he and Warriors were aware of from the start.

Warriors may have found it at the very least distasteful (or at the most extreme a literal last resort), but Wild had refused to shy away. It’s far better to protect everyone else than clean up the inevitable fallout.

Knowing all of that doesn’t make the sight of his blood on Time’s sword any less world-shattering.

Ha, guess this is what Warriors had been trying to warn him about.

Hooray for hindsight.

Wild taps his fingers along the fuller of the blade, listening to the dull thunk thunk of his nails against the metal, and sighs. The sound is instantly snatched way by the cool night’s breeze, answered only with the soft snores of the Chain sleeping nearby. He’s glad they’re all asleep right now, because in all honesty?

He feels like an idiot.

Wild’s almost angry at himself for being so shocked at the sight of his blood and being overwhelmed by all the conflict that’s swirling inside him. Because damn what does that say about him, huh?

Had he really… what? Put that much stock in a bloodline barely acknowledged? Thought that maybe volunteering would’ve changed something?

Believed this would be the price of Time’s approval?

Naydra’s grace, he is pathetic; desperate for acknowledgement he won’t receive and doesn’t need anyway.

Wild shakes his head, trying to realign his thoughts to the important issue at hand: his blood on Time’s sword and what he should do about it.

He doesn’t even have to think twice when he instantly decides not to show anyone else.

Time’s already going to be shaken up, of course. While Warriors couldn’t go into much detail about the ocarina’s power, simply because Time had never told him much to start with, he had emphasised that Time hated it. Hated what memories it brought back. The ones that will no doubt be bright in his mind when he finally wakes. Wild telling him that he worked it out would only be salt in an already deep wound.

And telling any of the others is off his list too. It had taken them six days to properly realise Time was being influenced by something malicious, finally acknowledge the insidiousness behind his weird behaviour. There’s no need to add salt to that wound either.

So showing anyone the evidence of whatever had happened to Time and only Time is out of the question. Wild doesn’t want to shatter them any more than they already have been.

But Wild still knows it exists. He knows that at some erased point in his recent past, Time had drawn his blood with the very sword Wild now holds. It’s something he’d never thought any member of the Chain would be able to do to another.

Then again, Time hadn’t been in his right mind. Like, that’s literally the whole point, right? Maybe… if he had been himself, there would be no dried blood flaking off the metal as Wild’s fingertips brush over the edge of the blade.

But ‘maybe’ is a dangerous alternative to consider, given Wild has no context for the blood in the first place. Maybe could’ve encompassed everything from Time’s ruthlessness to Wild’s own, a showcase of the vast amount of items and magic at their disposal.

Maybe could’ve been blood soaking their hands, not just dried on a sword. Maybe could’ve been one of them dead or dying. Maybe could’ve been everything staying the same and Wild still ending up exactly where he is now.

Maybe is a line of thinking that will only lead to a downwards spiral that Wild shouldn't let himself to fall into, even though he’s already slipping.

Right here and now is what matters. And right here and now is this, once again for the class: Wild’s blood is on the Biggoron sword, and he may or may not be freaking out because of it.

How is he supposed to look at Time and not wonder what he’d done wrong that resulted with Time’s sword spilling his blood? Not wonder what mistake he had made? Not wonder what he should’ve done better?

Fuck, he wishes he could talk to Mipha. For all her outward kindness and sweetness, she was steely to her core. She had always been good at talking him out of these stupid tunnelling spirals, the ones he could never escape alone. Steady and never unkind but not afraid to tell him when he was being an idiot.

Or Urbosa. Urbosa who always offered him advice, warranted or not, because while he was forced to pretend to be someone who could carry the whole continent on his shoulders, she had always seen the child he truly was. She was the one who instructed him to hold his head up high, to never apologise for being himself, no matter how long it took for him to work it out.

Daruk would be nice. Firm and calming, Daruk had been great at listening, even when Link couldn’t vocalise the millions of thoughts racing around his head. His advice may have always been simple, but it was always about finding his roots, focusing on his core.

And Revali, for all his snark. His advice was never said nicely or kindly. It was always pointed and sharp, but for all his cutting words, Revali truly had a talent for finding the main issue and tearing it open for all to see. There was never any time for hysterics with him. Either you dealt with it now or you left him alone.

It’s not the first time Wild’s wished to speak to them again, like he used to be able to do for a few fleeting minutes whenever he would visit the Divine Beasts. But their ghosts only exist in his time. They can’t be dead in an era where they haven’t even been born yet.

Still, that desire burns bright inside him, making his throat swell shut and his eyes water, homesickness pounding for freedom against the cage that is his ribs. He closes his eyes, feeling a few tears slip down his cheeks, and lets himself wish they could be here to tell him he’s being dramatic, that he’s just drawing a longbow.

Wild cradles that little flickering fire in his hands, letting its warmth wash over him. And then he breathes out and smothers the flame, extinguishing it between his closed fingers.

It’ll relight the next time he reaches for the souls of the Champions which no longer sit beneath his skin. But for now he breathes in and out once more, tears drying up and expression falling flat. Because now is not the time for reminiscing and wishing. Now is the time to focus and get shit done, panic attack be damned.

His blood is on Time’s sword and when he wakes Hyrule for his watch in two hours, it needs to have never been there.

Wild picks up his Slate, tapping for the linen he uses to clean his weapons, and turns to the Biggoron sword in his lap. The blade gleams, still reflecting the fire nearby. That streak of blood staining the tip of the sword is almost black in the depths of the night.

Rag in hand, he wipes the blood away. It only takes a few brushes of cloth on metal for it to peel away and disappear, gone like it had never been there in the first place. Gone like its very existence hadn’t shaken Wild to the core.

His own face stares back at him from the polished metal of the blade. Blank and stoic. Good ol’ Sir Link, Champion of Hyrule, Wielder of the Sword That Seals the Darkness through and through.

Glad to see that’s still in there somewhere, no matter how hard Wild tries to regulate it to just combat. The old mindset sits on his shoulders like a blanket; comforting, even when it shouldn’t be.

Tomorrow, he’ll work on cheering everyone up somehow. Maybe he should cook crepes or some other slightly extravagant meal. Something that’ll at least make everyone smile as they wait for Time to wake up. Something that’ll remind them this is only a passing blip on their quest.

Tonight, Wild looks down at his emotionless reflection and wishes that familiar mask of ‘Sir Link’ would silence his mind as easily as it does his face.

“And he’s officially alive!”

It’s Warriors who says this, one of Time’s arms looped over his shoulders as they hobble out of the tent, Twilight hovering behind them. Time winces a bit at the early morning sun, raising his free hand to block his eye.

“You look like shit, Old Man.” Legend yells across camp at them.

Time snorts, a barely audible huff of faked disdain that does nothing to disguise the smile on his face. “Your kind words mean everything to me, Legend.”

“Always happy to be of service, that one.” Four agrees solemnly and ducks when Legend swipes playfully at him.

“Down you go. And if you pass out again...” Warriors lets the end of the sentence linger threateningly in the air as he helps Time take a seat by the fire, and Time raises his hands defensively.

“That was not my fault.”

Wind throws himself down beside Time as melodramatically as possible, his face twisted into something that could be called patronising if it wasn’t coming from Wind. “Did he blame the curse? He blamed the curse, didn’t he?”

“He blamed the curse.” Hyrule nods sagely, drifting past serenely and on a direct course towards Wild. His eyes are fixed on the glass bottle of wildberry syrup, and Wild raises his spatula menacingly, already knowing what the traveller is after. Hyrule scowls, flips him off, and re-routes to pester Legend.

It’s not like Wild hasn’t had a stock of crepes and syrup for Hyrule to pilfer from all week, nooooo. He just has to be greedy and try to take them directly from the pan.

“Twice.” Warriors’ smug look is wholly unrepentant in the face of Time’s ‘I am disappointed in your life choices’ glare. Not even fazed, the little shit. Wild’s beyond envious. He needs Warriors to teach them all how to ignore it, because Time has that glare weaponised.

“Once.” Time disagrees automatically.

“Twice.” Warriors repeats with an edge of finality to his voice.

Time’s jaw sets, stubborn streak already emerging from its own slumber, and Wild decides to take one for the team. Better to get this over and done with now, both to bulldoze through the impending awkwardness and to save them all from the hill Time’s apparently decided to die on.

He breathes in, one quick inhale of air, and steps forward. It’s just Time.

Careful not to upset the plate of wildberry crepes in hand, Wild slides into the empty space next to Warriors, spatula at the ready to fend off Wind, who perks up excitedly at the sight of them.

Wind aside, Wild’s presence has the exact effect he figured it would. Warriors’ stance becomes just that bit more rigid, a shadow of being at attention. And Time freezes, instantly falling silent. He’s always been the largest of them, both in terms of height and sheer presence, but now he almost seems to shrink into himself, shoulders bowed.

Wild just meets his gaze with a smile. It’s weaker than normal, strained at the edges, but it’s still a smile. He holds the plate out. “Glad to see you up, Time.”

There’s a beat, a moment where the world feels like it drags out the way it does mid-flurry rush, before Time reaches up to take the plate. His eye doesn’t waver from Wild’s and after a moment he lets a small smile begin to work its way onto his face.

“Thank you, Wild.”

Chapter Text

It’s the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder that startles Wild back into awareness. He jerks his head up, reflexively reaching for the dagger tucked in his boot, only for a warm grip to close around his wrist.

“Just me.” Time says quietly, on one knee in front of Wild. He’s silhouetted by shadows, the campfire nearby burnt low while the sky above is dark and barely moonlit. “You’re going to give yourself an ache tomorrow, sitting like that.”

“Shit.” Wild mumbles, tongue still heavy with sleep.

His racing pulse starts to slow, the shock at the abrupt awakening already beginning to seep away. He rakes his free hand through his loose hair, trying to push it out of his face, and blinks up uncomprehending at the stars above them.

“Wait. When did it get so late?”

It had been early dusk when he’d settled by the tree, belly full and exhaustion of the past week tugging at his mind. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep.

Time chuckles, dropping Wild’s wrist and carefully taking a seat next to him. There’s still that awkwardness in his body language, the weight that slopes his shoulders inwards, but his amusement is genuine. “Sky went on second watch about thirty minutes ago.”

Wild turns his gaze to camp, taking in the way Four and Twilight are leaning against each other, heads bowed in sleep. Wind’s flopped over Legend’s legs, pinning the veteran in place, while Hyrule’s head rests on his chest. Warriors is the only one who’s actually made it to his bedroll, though Wild suspects that might be Time’s doing over conscious choice.

He fiddles with the clasp of his cloak, glancing at Time out of the corner of his eye. “You managed to fend them all off to stay awake?”

“I took first watch.” Time says. There’s something solemn in his gaze as he stares at the smouldering fire. “I’ve had more than enough sleep over the last few days.”

Ha, that last part’s a lie if Wild’s ever heard one. Time’s been exhausted all day, fatigue weighing down his limbs and dragging every step of his feet. According to Hyrule and Legend, his magical reserves are nearly back to normal, but Wild’s a good friend to the exhaustion that comes from overreaching yourself. It’s a dogged thing that hates to let go easily, and Time’s definitely still tangled up in it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks all the same, working on hitching his cloak higher over his shoulders. There’s a cool bite to the air, the temperature sinking as the moon rises above them.

“Better.” A slight smile makes its way onto Time’s face. His admission is unexpectedly blunt but given freely. “A lot better. It’s… strange, looking back and realising how fogged my mind had been. But that’s all cleared now.”

It’s not an intentional dig, but Wild still winces a bit at the reminder of how long it had taken them to realise he had been cursed. “Wish we’d picked that up sooner. Sorry.”

“That’s not your fault.” Time replies immediately. He rolls his eye, something fond softening his expression even more. “I’ve already had to beat that into Warriors and Twilight’s heads; don’t make me do it to you too.”

Wild snickers at that. “Sounds like a deal, but only one condition.”

“And that would be?”

“At least accept the apology?”

Time glances over at him, looking for something Wild doesn’t know how to name.

It’s not the first time he’s done that today: looked at Wild as though he’s a puzzle Time absolutely has to solve at all costs. And every time that analytical gaze has been pointed in his direction, Wild’s always felt exposed. On edge, but never quite sure why. Feeling like he’s being judged but not sure what standards he’s being measured against.

He’s not exactly used to Time’s attention being focused on him like this.

His shoulders rise instinctively and he ducks down a bit into his cloak, hoping the swathes of material around him can work to hide him away. It takes him a moment, but he does manage to meet Time’s gaze. “What?”

“I feel,” Time starts, slowly and cautiously like he’s stepped onto a frozen lake and heard the ice crack beneath him, “that out of everyone here, you’re the last person who needs to apologise to me.”

“Why do you say that?” Wild asks, trying to not turn the question into a challenge. He doesn’t know if he’s any more ready for the conversation Time clearly wants to start than he had been a few nights ago.

Time looks away, scanning the camp and their slumbering brothers in a long, slow sweep. The night grows deeper as he does, the seconds turning into minutes. Finally he sighs, a weary sound that hangs in the air. His shoulders bow again, weighed down by emotions Wild can’t even begin to identify.

“I need talk to you,” he admits quietly, “about what happened.”

Yeah, nope. Nope, no, Wild is definitely not ready for this at all. He’s already come to a safe but fragile conclusion in his mind; he really doesn’t know if he can handle that being shattered again.

“I-it’s fine. You were cursed. Whatever happened wasn’t your fault.” Wild draws his cloak tighter, trying his best to vanish into it.

He’s been trying to convince himself to accept those very words as the truth for a few days now, clinging desperately to the false hope they provide. He doesn’t want to lose it, not now.

“That doesn’t excuse it.” Time shakes his head, frustration already working its way into his expression. “You don’t know what happened but—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp, almost pained inhale, his look of frustration shattering into something far worse: self-loathing.

It’s the final straw, the final sign of confirmation that Wild didn’t ever want to receive. It had been bad enough when Time had first seen him this morning, almost trying to hide beneath his own bulk, but the expression on his face right now?

That finally makes it real.

“I already know.” He whispers, twisting the edge of his cloak around his fingers, desperate to burn off the nerves thrumming through his veins. “It’s not your fault, Time.”

Time flinches and sinks further into himself. “I… I thought you might. How? What was it?”

Wild shrugs, keeping his eyes focused on the ground in front of them, trying to keep himself steady now that everything is falling apart in his mind. “You sword. I… I kept getting this feeling and I couldn’t shake it. So I checked.”

“And you found your blood.” The words leave Time in a nearly silent sigh but they’re still loud enough.

He’s finally said the words that until now have only existed in Wild’s head. Whatever wounds Time had inflicted on him during the resets sting in Wild’s mind, reopened now that they’ve been acknowledged.

Wild nods, not even trying to speak. He already knows he’ll never be able to get his voice to say any of it out loud.

Time drops his head into his hands, his breathing shaky yet forcefully even and rhythmic. When he does speak, he doesn’t raise his head, leaving his voice muffled but no less understandable. “…I’m so sorry, Wild.”

“For what?” Wild tries to smile. “Getting cursed?”

“How can you be so blasé about this?” In any other circumstance, Time’s tone would be venomous. Right now, though, it just sounds… weak. Defeated. His head stays in his hands. “You don’t even know how close it was.”

“Still doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

This is an easy game: deflection and support, keeping Time at an arm’s length and reassuring him, all while hiding everything below the surface. It’s a game Wild’s played for months, telling the Chain the larger bits of his journey while leaving all the little details hidden. It’s the easiest way to stay safe while still trusting them all the best he possibly can.

Time finally lifts his head. “You didn’t see the expression I put on your face.”

His eyes, both of them open and fixed on Wild, are rimmed red, his face tear streaked, but he keeps going as though this weight had been a bowstring that’s finally snapped under the strain. “You don’t remember it but I can’t forget it. That look of betrayal. Goddesses, Wild, I would’ve killed you and you just looked at me like… like you didn’t even know who I was. And it's my fault that you looked like that. You never even picked up a sword.”

Just like that, the easiness is gone. The rules of the game Wild’s long played have been broken, shattered in an instant by the look on Time’s face and the desperation in his words.

He takes a breath, crossing his legs and looking down at his lap. There’s a lot of ways this conversation can go and he’s prepared for none of them. There’s no clear way forward.

He tries to gather his thoughts, tries to plot a safe course through the danger, but all that comes out when he opens his mouth is; “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I should’ve… should’ve done better.”

Time splutters, which is something that would normally make Wild laugh; their composed and unwavering leader being so openly stunned. Right now though he can’t even muster up a smile, too shocked at his own audacity and humiliated by his failure.

“Nayru guide me, what are you even saying, Wild?!” There’s a small thread of anger now, burning bright in Time’s eyes. Despite that, he’s still talking quietly, casting another wide look around to make sure no one’s woken up so the conversation stays private.

Fine. Sure. Might as well go all in on this, right? Not like Time doesn't already know anyway. Wild takes a breath like he’s about to plunge into deep water, and lets it all out.

“I screwed up, yeah?” He keeps his voice flat and monotonous, all but welcoming the blanket of Sir Link to the forefront. “Probably got cocky. I thought, given all the times we’ve all sparred together, that I’d know enough to stop you. Know the way you fight well enough to walk away totally fine.”

Wild can’t meet Time’s eyes now, too afraid of what he’ll see there. He doesn’t need any of Time’s disappointment on top of his own. His ears burn with the shame he’s been carrying inside himself since he found the blood. “It’s not your fault that I got hurt, Time; it’s mine. I’m sorry. I didn’t try hard enough.”

Time opens and closes his mouth, gawking soundlessly. Then he lets out a strangled noise and leans over, one hand clasping tightly onto Wild’s shoulder and the other cupping his jaw, forcing his head up so Wild can see his face properly.

That small hint of anger is still there but the main emotion spread across Time’s features is pure determination.

“None of this is your fault; do you understand me?” Only Time could make something that’s meant to be comforting sound like a threat, delivering those words with the underlying order of believe me or else. “Wild, it’s… you… Nothing you did was wrong, Wild. Nothing.”

Wild nods in reply, not because he believes the words but because he knows Time expects him to agree.

Unsurprisingly, Time instantly picks up on that doubt loud and clear.

With a heavy sigh, his anger fades, replaced by something Wild’s never seen pointed in his direction before. He doesn’t get a chance to identify it, because Time’s already talking, rubbing back and forth over a specific spot on Wild’s shoulder with his thumb.

“Only you can look that defiant in the face of the truth.” He actually chuckles and oh, that expression is… affection?

Wild blinks a few times, hating the way his eyes sting as they start to fill with tears. The hand on his chin moves upwards, Time gently tilting his head to see his cheek, scars and all, in the dim firelight.

“Did Warriors tell you how many resets I went through?” He asks, hand warm against the skin of Wild’s face. There's a slight shake in his fingers, barely noticeable if not for the distracting pitter-patter of the pads of his fingertips against Wild's skin.

Wild considers shaking his head but that would mean dislodging Time, so he swallows back the lump in his throat and croaks out, “No.”

He instinctively braces himself all the same, because truthfully he doesn’t want to know the amount, not yet. It’s cowardly, but he’s not ready to face the full scope of what his mistake cost Time.

“I… don’t quite remember the exact amount, but it was between forty and fifty.” Now Time does pause, both in his words and his movements, guilt once again replacing the soft look he’d been wearing a moment ago. “And out of all those resets, I only ever drew blood five times.”

Wild stares.

“W-what? No. No way.” Now he does shake his head, pushing himself back and out of Time’s reach, desperate for the distance. “You—why are you trying to make me feel better?”

Time lets him go, dropping his hands to rest on his knees. Despite Wild’s reaction, he’s as calm as ever. “What exactly makes you think that’s the only thing I’m trying to do here?”

“What else would this be?” Wild gestures between them almost frenziedly, his cloak slipping off his shoulders and pooling around him.

He can’t do this. All this weirdness and abnormality from the routine usually established between them is making his head spin. It’s just too much to process even without trying to think about what Time’s saying.

Time’s supposed to be… well… anything but this. Patience and calmness was not what Wild had expected when he'd imagined this conversation.

“I’m not sure what you think is going on, to be perfectly frank. But I think we’re having two different conversations right now.” Time blinks placidly, just waiting like he always does. The only sign that gives him away is how his hands tense, fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers to stop them from trembling.

Wild moves back another few inches, still watching Time watch him with that terrifyingly immovable level of patience. It’s always been nerve-wracking, seeing Time just sit there and wait him out. But he has a feeling this isn’t something he will be able to escape. This isn’t something he can avoid, not anymore.

Doesn’t make admitting that he messed up any easier.

He takes a breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts, and even then it still takes almost a minute before his voice starts to work again. “I… look, I’m good, Time. But I’m not that good. There’s no way I held you off for forty or whatever resets. You don’t need to make me feel better. I already know I need to work harder.”

“I can guarantee that I’m not lying to you.” Time says wryly.

Wild winces, ducking down a bit more, cowered by the words even though Time’s tone hadn’t been judgemental. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant!”

“I know what you’re trying to say, Wild.” Time cuts him off gently, one hand raised slightly to avert any more protests. “But I don’t think you’re fully hearing what I’m saying, so let me put it to you this way: did you know I have a mask that turns me invisible?”

“You what?” Wild shakes his head, the non sequitur blindsiding his already jumbled mind. “I don’t understand, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“If I truly wanted to get past you all, why wouldn’t I just use that?” Time poses the question to him, a small bitter smile on his face. “Whatever that Poe was, black-blooded or not, it was cunning. We all give off a lot of ambient magic and when you add a battle into the equation? It didn’t want to just drain me; it wanted to wring as much magic out of all of us as possible.”

 “I…I’m still not quite following.” The admission makes Wild’s cheeks burn, hating that he has to confess yet another failure out loud, but the dots just aren’t connecting in his mind. He tries to grasp for the meaning behind Time’s words but there’s still something just out of his reach, something that refuses to click into place.

Still, he hesitantly asks, “Are you… trying to say it’s our fault you were so magically exhausted?”

The look Time gives him is flat, which he’s used to, but not unkind, which he’s definitely not used to. “The Ocarina of Time is an extremely powerful item that expends a lot of magic with each use. It alone would’ve been like a feast, and that’s all before considering my own magic and everything else I carry with me. And then there’s you.”

“Me?” Wild scoots back again, trying to temper the disbelief in his voice. “But I don’t have that much magic. And I can barely even control it.”

“While that may be true, what you do have is an incredibly fast recharge rate.” Time’s eyes are piercing into him, desperate for Wild to understand. “So think about it: if I, as I am right now, truly wanted get past you, there are a number of ways I could’ve done it. But that Poe was inside my head, stripping all that rational thinking away. All it cared about was getting us to produce as much magic as we could to fuel it.”

Wild slowly takes in what Time is saying, turning the words over and over in his mind, and nods carefully. “I… think I get it. But if it was influencing you that much, I definitely should’ve done better.”

Should’ve been able to do… more. Just like you always expect me to.

“Even after everything I just told you,” Time’s voice turns sharp as he fixes Wild with a knowing look, “why do you still want what happened to be your fault?"

Wild freezes, an automatic reply halted on his tongue. What? But… it is his fault, right?

He runs through the facts in his mind again, still working to assimilate the information Time’s given him with what he already knows: Time was cursed to the point where he couldn’t even think properly, Wild tried to stop him and his blood ended up on Time’s sword.

Regardless of what Time's said, that all still means that at some point Wild had slipped up and made a mistake. He should’ve tried harder, right? Right?

But for the first time in three days, that answer doesn’t feel like it makes sense anymore. He digs his fingers into the fabric of his cloak, pulling it up around his shoulders and holding it close. “I… isn’t it?”

The pressure of Time’s gaze doesn’t abate, even as his expression turns sorrowful. “No. It isn’t.” He pauses to take a breath. “…And I know it’s not mine either. The only thing that holds culpability for what happened is the Poe.”

He doesn’t sound like he believes his own words. It stings more than Wild wants it to, hearing that level of disbelief aimed at him, especially considering how badly he needs to argue the crux of the problem.

The one Time’s pretending to blame is a monster, something that’s been created solely to destroy, and that’s the exact reason why Wild failed and they both know it.

He needs to insist until Time finally gets the point. As heroes, they’re meant to always overcome any challenge, to outwit their opponents no matter what.

It’s not Time’s fault he got cursed, but Wild had been the one who walked into the situation knowing Time wasn’t in his right mind. Wild had carried that responsibility to succeed as a hero which means the blood on Time’s sword is a sign that he failed that one, simple job.

Frustratingly it doesn’t seem to matter how much he needs to tell Time all this, to finally get him to understand just what Wild’s been trying to say, because every time he opens his mouth, his throat closes around the words.

Shame sits around his neck like a noose pulled tight, preventing him from laying out the evidence of his failure in some weak, long-forgotten enforced order to save face.

But Time just watches him with that damned knowing expression still on his face, and shakes his head once again. “I’m serious, Wild. Whatever you’re thinking is wrong. You did everything you could and I’m sorry.”

Wild pulls his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees, and fixes Time with a look. He’s not even sure what emotion he’s trying to convey: disbelief, incredulity, anger?

He just… Why isn’t Time mad at him? Time’s always trying to get him to do better for various reasons, always wanting him to be more than he is, so why is this the one time where he’s not?!

Time raises a quivering hand as he inches forward carefully, and gently rests it back onto Wild’s shoulder. Even though the touch is light, Wild can feel how badly he’s shaking.

“Listen to me.” Time says in a tone that allows no argument. “I’m not apologising for getting cursed. These kind of things happen, but they are accidents and we can’t avoid them. But I am sorry that I hurt you, because while I know I couldn’t control myself, that doesn’t change the fact that it was my hands that drew your blood. That Poe made me take advantage of your trust in me and I—”

He chokes on the rest of the sentence and jams his eyes closed, revulsion and self-loathing making a comeback. Wild can feel his grip on his shoulder tighten, fingers shaking harder where they’re sinking into fabric and burning like a firebrand against his skin.

“I’m sorry.” Time eventually whispers again, whole body sinking under the weight of the apology. The words are spoken with the reverence of a holy oath.

Wild listens and actually thinks about everything Time just said to him. And, when everything finally falls into place and clicks in his mind, he feels like he’s been punched.

This isn’t the first time Wild’s been reminded that Time is made of flesh and bone just like the rest of them, but it is the first time Wild’s really looked at him during that realisation. Looked past all the things he’s come to believe up until now and seen Time as he truly is.

When the portals and black-blooded monsters had all started, Time had been unofficially but unanimously elected to lead them. He’d been the one selected to carry the responsibility of eight more precious lives on top of the population of every single Kingdom of Hyrule they visited.

For all Wild knows about the immense weight heroes have to carry, he had been blind to the sheer amount of responsibility they’ve all put on Time’s shoulders until he sits here now, watching his ancestor crumble as guilt rips into him, not for failing a Kingdom but for believing he failed his own blood.

And the worst thing of all is the gut-wrenching realisation that Wild has been an absolute ass.

He’s spent all these months frustrated by the expectations Time’s pushed onto his shoulders, completely missing not only the reason why he’d been doing so, but also that fact that Wild’s been doing the exact same thing back.

Horror starts coursing through him. Naydra’s grace, how any times has he done this?

How many times has he ignored something because he refused to look beyond his own tunnel vision, completely missing the truth that’s right in front of him?

How many times has he actually hurt Time because of he'd been unable to see past his baseless perceptions, perceptions that were created solely from a few negative interactions at the start of their quest and then amplified by his own stubbornness?

How had he seriously not learnt to never make assumptions about anyone no matter what from the memories he’s regained? How had he managed to so easily forget the hurt and frustration that he’d felt when Flora had done this very same thing to him, when the one person who could possibly have understood his position refused to?!

Wait.

Oh fuck.

When Flora finds out about this (from Twilight of course, because he’s a complete snitch), she’s going to laugh herself stupid for a literal hour, and then she’s going to go and tell Impa and Purah who’ll both laugh about it some more, and then she’s going to kill him.

Oh blessed Hylia, he’s so dead. She’s never going to let him live this down. She’ll etch it into his tombstone if she ever gets the chance.

Embarrassment heating his face, Wild reaches up to curl his fingers around Time’s wrist, holding tight when Time recoils in surprise. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Time echoes, one eyebrow rising incredulously.

Wild nods, firmer now. “Yeah, okay. I… well I don’t believe you yet, but I promise I’ll try to. So believe me when I say it wasn’t your fault either.”

He winces a little but refuses to let the words stay trapped in his throat. “And I’m sorry too. Not for what happened, but for everything else.”

Time stares at him, quiet and contemplative. Something inside him settles, lifting the weight of his guilt off of his shoulders the tiniest bit. 

"Okay." He agrees softly. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a genuine smile. “I would say exactly what you expect me to say in reply, but I think this conversation has gone in circles long enough, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Definitely.” Wild snorts, relieved and beyond thankful that Time's managed to understand everything Wild can't say right now from just his meagre attempt at an apology.

He peeks up at Time through his fringe, desperate to ask but painfully meek all the same, worried about crossing a boundary he doesn’t know exists yet. “Did I… were you serious about the forty or fifty resets thing?”

“I am completely serious.” Time replies without emotion, though he’s betrayed by his reddening cheeks. “You used the Mortal Draw on me twice in a row. Literally one reset after the other.”

Wild blinks.

Takes in the statement and everything it implies.

A loud chortle escapes his lips and he immediately cuts it off by clapping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry.” He says, voice muffled.

“It was just as ridiculous as it sounds.” Time agrees, thankfully not looking put off by the laugh. He gently disentangles himself from Wild and settles with his back against the tree trunk. “But it was terrifying as well.”

Yeah, that feels like an understatement. Losing all coherent thought but not even being aware that you’ve lost it, and becoming a puppet to something you don’t even know is in your mind at the same time? Terrifying almost feels like the kindest word to describe what had happened.

Wild looks over at Time, not sure how to speak any of the thoughts floating in his mind, and frowns when he catches the slightest hitch in Time’s breathing and the shake of his hands that’s still there.

Huh. Interesting.

He thinks back over the last twenty or so minutes, trying to remember as much as he can about the way Time has been acting. A suspicion blooms in the back of his mind.

Tugging his cloak around him, Wild shuffles over to sit next to Time, not the least bit blind to the way Time stiffens as he does so, hands clenched tightly where they sit on his legs. Now that he’s actually paying attention to it, Wild can see that it’s not a reaction born of discomfort, but instead of restraint.

And it’s the last sign Wild needs to go ‘ah fuck it’, throw rational decision-making out the window, and lean sideways until his head comes into contact with a clothed shoulder.

Time almost stops breathing underneath him in stunned surprise, though that only lasts a single second. Then he shifts carefully, looping his arm securely around Wild’s shoulders and pulling him closer. Wild can feel the way his breathing keeps catching in his chest, causing a barely-there stutter in the steady rise and fall under his cheek.

There’s that confirmation once again.

“You didn’t have watch, did you?” He asks quietly.

Time lets out yet another shaky breath, his head coming down to rest atop of Wild’s. When he speaks, his voice is as fragile as glass and painfully raw. “I killed you. Every time I dream, I kill you. There’s blood everywhere and you’re dead because of me. I just… I had to make sure it wasn’t real.”

It's more than Wild expected him to share but he doesn't have to wonder why Time's speaking so openly. None of them are strangers to nightmares and it’s not the least bit shocking that the curse has joined the long list already under Time’s name.

Wild hums in understanding, sinking into Time’s side. He hopes for how small this is, it’ll provide comfort all the same. But while he wants to wait Time out, make sure that this tiny action really helps settle the panic he's now so obviously been barely keeping at bay, Wild can't stop yawning.

Ugh. Seriously? This again?

No one in the Chain had gotten much sleep over the past week and a bit; too worried about Time, both before and after the curse was broken, and then too on edge because of how vulnerable he was while unconscious.

And annoyingly that sleep debt is once again chasing him. His whole body feels heavy and he can't stop his eyelids from drooping.

Logically, Wild knows he should get up to sleep on an actual bedroll rather than stay here, but he’s strangely comfortable. It feels like that welcomed sensation of safety; the feeling Wild usually only ever gets when he curls up with Twilight, as either a hylian or wolf.

And, as stupid as it is to say, Time is warm. Like… really warm. And he certainly doesn’t seem interested in moving right now, nor all that fussed that Wild’s using him as glorified pillow.

Time’s arm around him tightens, letting Wild shift closer, and Wild goes with the motion, once again throwing all caution to the wind.

Screw it. He’s warm and safe here. Consequences can be tomorrow's problem.

It doesn’t take him long to slip back into sleep.

His hands are shaking. He can’t stop them no matter how hard he tries.

There’s no noise, no birds or wind or insects. All Time can hear is his own ragged breathing, and the soft plop plop plop as blood falls from his sword onto the ground below, slowly staining the grass a deep red.

The sight alone makes nausea swell up into his throat. He struggles to swallow a weak inhale of air, his lungs choking on the oxygen like it’s poison.

His hands are still shaking.

Wild’s knees buckle and he slides off the end of the sword with a sickening squelch, crumpling to the ground in a blood-soaked heap. He’s still gasping for air, breathing short and shallow. His eyes stare up at the sky above them hazily. He doesn’t even twitch a finger to put pressure on the wound.

Something inside Time smiles, all smug and pleased, but Time just stares at all the blood blankly.

He can’t stop his hands from shaking. They’re not even covered in blood but they won’t stop shaking.

Wild’s breathing turns raspy and his chest rises in short, gasping jolts. Abruptly, the Something inside Time implodes, torn from his mind in a quick, surgical motion, and takes the fog with it.

Time drops his sword like it had burned him, staring down at Wild. All-encompassing horror quickly overwhelms the cool apathy that had been enveloping him.

“No!” He chokes out and falls to his knees beside Wild, pressing both hands down over the gaping wound in his chest.

Wild bucks slightly at the pressure, a weak keening noise ripping out through his teeth. His eyes roll but they’re still not focusing on anything in front of him. Bright red blood pumps up between Time’s fingers. It’s too fast and heavy for him to stop.

Time doesn’t bother to hide his sob. “Wild!?” He gasps out, no longer caring how panicked his voice sounds. “C’mon, Wild, look at me!”

Blood continues to gush over his gauntlets, steadily dyeing them red. Golden Goddesses above, he needs a fairy!

Time leans his whole weight onto one hand, pressing down along the wound with his forearm, and shoves his free hand into his pouch. As he digs desperately, he can feel Wild’s heart beat against his chest like a hummingbird, weak and rapid. He’s barely breathing.

Where the fuck are his stash of fairies?!

With a soft gurgle, Wild stops breathing. His heart goes still under Time’s hand.

Time freezes, staring at him. He counts the seconds unconsciously, just waiting for something to happen. Something to start moving again. But there’s nothing: no blink of Wild’s eyes or intake of breath or beat of his heart.

He stares blankly up at the sky, gaze unfocused and distant. His skin is morbidly pale underneath all the blood.

“W-Wild?” Time chokes.

He cradles Wild’s cheek, tapping a rhythm against the bone of his jaw to get him to respond, but Wild’s head just limply rolls with the movement. There’s a stain of blood on his face from Time’s hand, painting over the stark white of his skin.

He’s already so cold against Time’s fingertips.

“No. No, no, no, Wild!”

Time’s vision blurs, all the white and red running together as tears start to fall. He presses his forehead against Wild’s, running his fingers through his long, blood-matted hair in some weak attempt at comfort, though he’s not sure exactly who the action’s meant for. His whole body heaves with the force of his sobs, and he holds his descendant’s corpse close against his chest.

“I’m sorry!” Time gasps out into Wild’s hair. “Fuck, Wild, I’m sorry!”

Time doesn’t startle awake, but it’s a near thing. His vision is blurred and watery, but he can still see that the sky above has only just begun to lighten, nowhere near the brilliant blue it had been in his dream.

A light fog has settled atop the camp, painting the clearing in soft, low-lit shades of dawn. When he shifts, back aching from a night spent sleeping upright against a tree, fur tickles the side of his face.

Time glances down, surprised. Twilight’s pelt has been carefully spread over his chest and shoulder, neatly tucked around him to ward off the early morning’s chill.

And there, still wrapped up in his cloak and curled into Time’s other side with the fingers of one hand tangled in Time’s undershirt, Wild sleeps on. Time can feel his ribs rising and falling under his palm as the warmth of a living, breathing person seeps into his side.

There’s no blood on his face or painting his tunic red as it soaks into every pore of his skin. Despite the awkward angle Time has, he can see enough to know that horrific wound yawning open in Wild’s chest never existed.

Just a dream. It was just a dream, he breathes out, air fogging in front of him, and gently tugs Wild closer. The mantra accompanied by the steady rhythm of Wild’s breathing help to calm his panicked heartbeat.

A low whistle, barely loud enough to echo through the light mist, catches his attention and Time turns his head towards the re-kindled fire. Twilight and Warriors both stare back, intense and fixated.

Ah, shit. Clearly his awakening hadn’t been as calm as he had thought it was.

‘You okay, Time?’ Warriors asks, launching himself straight into worried older brother mode. The name sign Malon had given Time years ago is easily shaped by his hands: L-fairy.

Despite the leftover fear and adrenaline still running its course through his veins, Time still manages an amused smile at the sign. He untucks his free arm from Twilight’s pelt and replies, ‘Fine. Bad dream. Nothing serious.’

Twilight’s face scrunches into something distinctly dubious. ‘Fine.’ He repeats mockingly to Warriors.

Warriors, the traitor, snickers. Clearly he's decided Time's not lying. He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. ‘Still his favourite word.’

‘Shut up.’ Time huffs at them both and leans his cheek back on the top of Wild’s head. It’s not the best position in the world, but right now Time has no desire to move.

‘You look comfortable.’ Twilight teases as though he’s literally never been in Time’s exact place before. He doesn’t try very hard to disguise the sincere happiness on his face.

‘You look like you should be on watch.’ Time snootily shoots back.

‘Don’t be grumpy.’ Warriors chimes in cheerfully, which naturally sets Twilight off again, hands rapid-fire signing a new round of teasing.

Time hates it when these two team up. They always end up egging each other on, consciously or not. It’s worse when Sky and Wind join in, mainly because Sky is fully aware of what bear he’s poking and Wind just likes causing trouble.

Truthfully though, Time can’t find it in himself to even pretend to be annoyed by the light-hearted mocking.

He closes his eye again, ignoring the quiet “Hey, rude!” complete with audible pout from Twilight, and lets himself settle back against the tree once more.

He’s not sure exactly what had changed last night, what made Wild go from his normally guarded self to literally falling asleep on Time, though he can make some assumptions. But right now, whatever brought about that change certainly doesn’t matter.

Time just gently tugs Wild closer, counting every heartbeat and breath. The continuing reminder that he’s alive isn’t enough to completely overcome the guilt Time knows he will carry for many years to come. It will take more than that reminder to convince his mind to accept that everyone who absolves him of those actions is telling him the truth, but…

Well, it’s just like Wild said.

He will certainly try to believe them all the same.